Dearly Departed
by SilverDreamer-PhoenixotD
Summary: Italy, March 1996. A man living in Germany appeals to have his father, Renato Sinclair, declared legally dead after being missing for 20 years this month. Oneshot.


_A/N: As will quickly become evident, I don't believe that thought that 'Renato Sinclair' is Reborn's real name, because for one, it sounds like a really fake name, when people in this series change their names it's not obvious, like Giotto to Ieyasu or Nagi to Chrome; and two, because there are no sources for that information besides self-referential tumblr posts, nothing from even a fan site with a quote from Amano-sensei. It is, however, excellent as a pseudonym for the same guy who uses the names 'Dr. Borin' and 'Reboyama' and 'Vongolasky'. No judgement on people who use Renato Sinclair as Reborn's real name, but I just prefer it being a mystery in my own work._

* * *

 **Dearly Departed**

Judge Giuseppe Caito, in all of his years, had seen few cases of a person being declared deceased _in absentia_. This was largely due to the difficulty in declaring a person legally dead in Italy; a motion could only be filed after ten years, and it was only after another ten years that they could be declared dead.

That day, his assistant entered his office, said "For you, sir," and set a manilla envelope on his desk. He thanked her, pulled open the envelope, and retrieved the small stack of legal documents. On the top, a letter, typed, identifying the sender as a 20-something in Berlin, seeking to confirm the legal death _in absentia_ of his father.

Caito wrinkled his brow and looked at the name. "Renato Sinclair. I…I know that name." He sat there for a good five minutes, considering it, then slapped himself in the side of his head as it came to him. "Of course! Fool of a man, how could I forget somebody who saved my life, even twenty-some years ago?"

He'd been only a lawyer then, working civil cases in the city of Palermo, and got a small time case that turned into something much bigger, a lawsuit by a single mother against Agosto Industries, for firing her after she became pregnant. When it looked like they might actually get a significant victory, Agosto tried to settle out of court for a value of around US$50,000, when the lawsuit was pushing for ten times that amount. Caito had spoken extensively with his client, and they decided to keep pushing. In truth, the case had originally been something of a charity case; she was his ex-wife's sister.

Then a sniper tried to kill both the client and Caito, and it all turned into a media circus. A week after the assassination attempt, a man in black appeared at Caito's office, and he had been sure he was about to die, only reinforced when he informed Caito that he was a representative of Timoteo Traversini, better known as Don Vongola. Then the man, who identified himself by the name Sinclair, informed Caito that he had been hired by Vongola Nono to protect Caito, as their aims—to bring down Agosto Industries—aligned nicely.

Caito had been disturbed to learn that he might be benefitting the mafia, but also couldn't abandon his client. He had, by his own conscience, forced himself to say that he did not seek to bring down Agosto, only to give justice to a young woman.

Then the man smiled, shrugged, and said "As you say. But, my job was only to protect you and your client, and that I will do until this case is concluded. It is my personal policy to complete every job I am given. Incidentally—you may find it beneficial to find a hotel room tonight. Your neighbor is in Agosto's pocket."

"My neighbor…I have two neighbors on my floor, a school teacher and a police officer."

"Yes, and the cop is being paid off," he explained patiently. "Don't fear, I'll be _paying_ him a visit tonight." The hitman's laugh had put a shiver down Caito's spine.

True to his word, though, Caito and his client lived through the case, and the hitman had worked from the shadows, for the most part—at least until the last day of the trial, when a knife maniac came charging through the crowd, slashed at Caito, and managed a cut on his face that had left a scar still red and angry years later.

The next moment had haunted his dreams for years to come. One bullet, placed directly in the maniac's spine from fifty yards, that stopped the assailant in his tracks, and when the police showed up finally, they learned that the maniac had been hired by the Agosto to kill Caito. Well, that was only the first nail in the coffin for Agosto Industries.

Caito had looked up at the building across the street, caught a single glimpse of a man in black doffing his hat to him, and never saw Renato Sinclair again.

 _Interesting individual,_ he thought, as he looked over the legal documents. He had realized soon after the case that the man called 'Renato Sinclair' born in 1950 had come into existence around 1965. There was a passport in the name, one which had expired in 1980—there was also a passport for the name Renato St. Clair, expired in 1982, and Reynard Sinclair, expired in 1976. Caito had spoken with his brother, a clean police officer, who advised him to keep it quiet—all's well that ends well, no need to risk the wrath of the Vongola.

Maybe he was less than clean, but at least he wasn't in the pocket of the mafia.

"Born 1950…so he'd be 46? No, 45, was born in October. To…unknown parents…activities unknown…vanished off the face of the earth in early 1976. Was only 25 when he vanished…and now, dead, _in absentia._ "

There was the possibility, of course, that he had merely gone into hiding, maybe retired to South America, but then he would have probably faked his death, gotten his files out of the system very early on. More likely, he'd done a job, got killed, and never returned home to the son and wife who didn't know his activities.

Caito set the Death Certificate on top, signed it, stamped it, and set it in his outgoing mail. It would be entered into the records, and the Death Certificate would then be sent to Mister…Mister…

Caito looked a little closer. "Borin? The mathematician? Huh. Well, at least he got out of the mafia."

* * *

"Planning on having a funeral for yourself?" the Ninth said, as he glanced at the death certificate. Reborn didn't even pretend to be amused by the suggestion.

"Renato Sinclair is dead," he said, taking back the death certificate and tucking it into his jacket pocket. "Not that I was ever that person."

Renato Sinclair was a false name from Day One. Told to create a legal identity for convenience, he had taken 'Renato' as a literal translation of the name 'Reborn', and 'Sinclair' from the street he had been living on at the time, Via Santa Clara. However, those who knew it was a false name rarely failed to miss that 'Sinclair' could be read as 'without brightness'. Appropriate for the hitman in black.

'Reborn' was the name he had been using for most of his life, even if it wasn't the one he had been born with, but he associated himself with that name far more than he ever did the name he was born with, and 'Renato Sinclair' was only ever a pseudonym.

Still. It was a little inexplicably sad to leave behind that alias. It was, after all, the last trace of the man he had once been.

"Caito," Timoteo muttered. "The lawyer about the Agosto case, I believe."

"You don't say?" Reborn had an excellent memory, if not photographic; he had known from the instant he saw the name the coincidence in just who had signed the death certificate.

"Indeed. As I recall, that incident was the first time I had to negotiate with the Vindice on your behalf."

The Vindice didn't like it when the police started sniffing around in the underworld, which is what happened when they interrogated the knife maniac. They suspected that Reborn had deliberately only disabled the hitman so that the police would be on the scent of the Agosto Family. That alone wouldn't have been enough to lock him up, but it would have risked putting them on the trail of the far longer trail of bodies that Reborn had left across half of Europe, including three different families that had stood in the way of the Vongola's goals. Finding out about any one of them would put him in the deepest part of Vendicare for a long time.

His answer to their accusations that he had deliberately put a bullet in the hitman's spine instead of his head? "I missed." And they had no response to that. The World's Greatest Hitman missed the shot.

"Very well," Timoteo said. "Massimo has returned to Italy, he'll be continuing his training."

Reborn nearly replied that Massimo was an idiot who was going to get himself killed before he came anywhere near the title of 'Decimo', but he knew far better than to say that thought aloud, since it had still been less than a year since Enrico's death.

He had been an idiot, too, and pompous to boot.


End file.
